


Just His Type

by Sarah_Ellie



Series: Against His Heart [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Coda, M/M, Post-Skyfall, Slash, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>007 and Q spend some time together after the events of Skyfall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Questions and Interior Decorating

"Not really a big believer in decor, are you?" Q said, looking around at the blank walls and sparse furniture. He pulled absently at his cardigan sleeve, uncertain what he would look like; his messy hair and thick-rimmed glasses in such a sleek, modern flat. 

"I was dead two weeks ago. I haven't exactly gotten around to interior decorating." Bond responded. He put his hand on the small of Q's back and led him through the foyer to the main room. Q fought the temptation to lean back into the pressure of James’ hand. 

"Care for a drink?" Bond asked, walking a short ways away to begin upturning glasses and uncorking bottles.

“Yeah, thanks.” Q said, leaning close to inspect the mantle over Bond’s fireplace. Only two things rested against the crème-coloured ledge; an old black-and-white photograph in a neat black frame and a small porcelain bulldog whose back was painted with the Union Jack. Q recognized the latter. 

“Here.” Bond held out a small crystalline glass with a touch of amber liquid at the bottom. Q took it with a nod of thanks.  
“Cheers.” Bond said, clinking his glass against Q’s. 

“Are those your parents?” He asked, pointing to the photograph. 

“Yeah.” Bond responded, taking a long pull from his drink. Q’s mind flashed to the psychological scores that Silver had had stored on his computer. Potential for alcoholism and drug addiction. “Just before they died. Would you like a tour of the place?” Bond laid a hand gently on Q’s shoulder and led him away from the mantle. 

“That depends.” Q smiled. “Does it end with the bedroom?” 

“It can end anywhere we’d like.” Bond said. He leaned in close to Q and placed his hand low on his back. Q could feel Bond’s breath on his neck, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Bond nipped his earlobe with his teeth.

“Christ, James.” Q said, pushing him away with a laugh. “You don’t exactly go in for subtlety, do you.” 

“Not when it’s a perfect waste of time.” Bond responded. He put his glass down on the mantle and pulled Q up against his body. Q let himself be brought tight against Bond’s body, and then gave him a small smile. 

Quickly, Q spun Bond around and pressed him flat against the wall next to the fireplace. Bond went easily, either because he expected the maneuver or because he was going to let him take the lead. Q pressed himself against Bond, and ran his lips over his jaw. He began to place small, fluttering kisses there, slowly making a path to Bond’s lips. 

When Bond kissed back, it was as if electricity had surged through Q. In an instant, he realized precisely what they were doing with a clarity that he had not had before.

“James,” Q said, pulling away a little. Bond looked at him with his shocking blue eyes, amusement crinkling around the corners. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Getting cold feet, Q?” James asked, leaning forward to close the gap between the two of them. As he sucked gently on Q’s neck, Q struggled to maintain a strong argument. 

“It’s just- your escapades aren’t exactly a secret, James. For someone who is supposed to be a ghost, you’ve got a bit of a reputation attached to your name.” Q began.

“Easy, Q. You’ll make me blush.” Bond murmured through his kisses.

“What I’m trying to say is that this could get out.” Q said. “And if it did, they people would know that we-“

“Yes?” Bond asked, nipping at Q’s adam’s apple.

“That we had been intimate.” Q said. “That you had been intimate with me.”

“What does that matter any?” Bond asked.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Q finally asked. “It doesn’t bother you that they’d all know?”

“What are you trying to say, Q?” Bond asked, pulling back. 

“Nothing.” Q said, running a hand through his mop of hair. “It’s just- I’m not exactly your type.”

“Because you’re an insufferable computer nerd?” Bond asked. He quirked an eyebrow. 

“No.” Q was exasperated. “Because I’m a bloke, James. Did you have to make that so hard?”

Bond laughed and pressed a kiss on Q’s forehead. 

“You’re intelligent, you’re beautiful, and you’ve got one hell of a comeback. You’re perfectly my type.” Bond said. “Now come on. Lots to be done.”


	2. Tongues, Teeth, and Discretion

James Bond’s bedroom was just as sleek and sparse as the rest of the house, with the exception of the king-sized bed. Q was surprised to see that the bed actually had sheets and blankets and a full stock of pillows. The room had been decorated with highly polished black furniture and was painted a very light grey. 

Of course, it took a bit for Q to notice any of these details. James had guided him to the room quickly, setting down his empty glass on one of the deeply-colored dressers before returning his attention to Q. Slowly; he began to free the dark buttons of Q’s cardigan. He ran his hands over Q’s chest and up onto his shoulders, sliding the cardigan off gently by the sleeves. Bond set it aside. The long, dark tie went next- Bond pulled at the knot until it came free, and then slowly popped open the top three buttons of Q’s crisp, white shirt. He pressed his lips against Q’s collarbone, and Q reached under James’ suit jacket to feel the muscles in his back, marred occasionally by the thickly puckered skin of a scar through the thin linen of his shirt. 

“ Come on now, I feel underdressed.” Q said murmured coyly, running a finger along the inner edge of James’ waistband. When he reached the front button he let his fingers dip low. James moved into his hand; his body responding to the tease and his eyes locked on Q’s. 

Bond led Q over to the edge of the bed. He paused briefly to flick off the lights on their way towards the mattress. Q expected to be plunged into darkness, but instead an orange glow from recess lighting along one wall cast light through the room. Slowly, Bond pressed him down onto the bed so that he settled on his back while Bond moved forward to straddle him at the waist. Q heard two soft thuds on the floor as Bond heeled off his shoes. Quickly, Q did the same. 

Slowly, Q felt James undo the rest of the fastenings on his shirt and push it free from his chest. He bent forward and worried one of Q’s nipples between his teeth, and Q groaned softly. James’ tongue flicked quickly over the hardened nub. Q reached forward and ran his hands through James’ hair- scratching at the nape of his neck. Bond kissed down Q chest and ran his hands across his stomach and down to the fly of his trousers. Deftly, Bond pulled at the dark leather of the belt and undid the buckle.

“Wait.” Q said, picking himself up by his elbows. He looked at Bond through his dark eyelashes.

“Hmm?” James asked, distracted. His eyes flashed in the dark light. 

“Come here.” Q smiled. He reached one arm forward and pulled James in for a kiss before slowly pulling him so that they were working their way up to the head of the bed. As they moved, lips and tongues and teeth searching and claiming the other, Q began to undress Bond. In the end, Bond was once again looming over Q, both of their legs tangled, and propped up on one arm. He was stripped to his trousers and both of their shirts were tossed onto the floor. 

They kissed, and Bond slowly pulled off Q’s trousers. He stood to take off his own, and moved towards a drawer to retrieve a small bottle that fit in the palm of his hand. His erection pressed against the front of his briefs, and Q ran a tongue over his lower lip at the sight of him. 

“Very discrete.” Q noted when Bond had rejoined him on the bed. Bond chuckled.

“That’s me. The very pinnacle of discretion.” He said, leaning close and gently biting Q’s lower lip. He ran his hand over Q’s thigh, and stopped just short of touching Q’s hardened cock. Q grunt softly in frustration. James looked over at him and gave a small wink before he slid down Q’s briefs and pressed his lips between Q’s legs.

“Shit.” Q gasped as Bond took him deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue against his tip and then pressing the muscle against the small notch on the end of his length. One hand grasped the top of Q’s thigh, holding him in place. The other, which Bond had slicked with lubricant, trailed down, down, down, and then slid inside, one finger at a time. Carefully, James went about opening Q up, all the while sucking on his cock. 

“I’m almost-“ Q warned James, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. 

James slid down farther and at the same time, hit a spot inside of Q that brought him to orgasm, gasping hard. 

Bond slowly pulled himself away from Q’s cock, pausing only to suck gently at his oversensitive tip. Then he reached down and pulled himself free of his own briefs, and slicked himself down. 

“Are you-“ Bond asked, quietly.

Q nodded, and spread himself wide. James placed himself right at the edge of Q’s opening, and slowly pressed inside. 

He could see Q’s chest filling with a deep, drawing breath as he filled him. When he had slid inside to the hilt, he could see something in Q’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before; a wildness that had previously gone unnoticed. 

“Go on then.” Q exhaled, adjusting to the feeling of James inside of him. 

Slowly, and then with increasing speed, Bond began to move inside of Q. The tightness, and the heat, made it so that Bond could only last for a few tantalizing minutes before he came. He thrust his had back and dug his nails into the meat of Q’s thighs as he released.

Gently, he pulled out of Q and lay down next to him. Q turned onto his side, and ran a finger down James’ chest.

“I believe you’ve done that before, James.” Q said with a smirk. 

“Now Q, you’re making me blush.” James laughed, and swept forward for a kiss.


	3. Limbs and Linens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff in the morning-after.

“Does this still hurt?” Q asked Bond the next morning, ghosting his fingers over the long, mottled scar over his bicep. 

“It’s fine.” Bond said, adjusting his head’s position on his pillow sleepily. He was turned on his side facing Q, the bed linens pulled around his waist. Q was facing Bond as well, his head propped up on his arm and his wild hair crowned with fly-a-ways. 

Q watched Bond with clear eyes, wide awake and a bit nervous. He wasn’t very good at the Morning After- not when he had no idea if he had just participated in a one-time fuck or something else entirely. James had a reputation, and he knew that. Christ, half of the female staff (and some of the males, too) lusted after Bond and the other half had already been burned.

Becoming one of that number didn’t really bother Q- he liked James. A lot. Besides, it wasn’t as if he himself didn’t have a history, it was just that as the new head of Q Branch, he had about as much of a personal life as Bond did. So in taking stock of everything, his nervousness was quite frankly the immediate effect of not knowing whether he was expected to leave or stay. That Bond was still asleep didn’t help very much. 

Carefully, Q began to try and extricate himself from the bed. Untangling himself from the linens was easy enough, but the attempt to not disturb a man who had been trained to noticed everything proved to be impossible.

“Going somewhere?” Bond asked, his voice clouded with sleep. 

“Loo.” Q replied. He scooped up his clothes and shoes from the floor- spread all around the room, for the love of God- and bypassed the en-suite bathroom to use the one down the hall. 

Once he had firmly shut himself into the bathroom, Q turned on the spigot and pressed handfuls of cool water to his face, trying to shake away his mental fog. He then began to get dressed- pulling on his trousers and his shirt. He saved the tie for last, undoing it and then pulling it back into a neat knot. He picked up his shoes from the floor and tucked his cardigan under one arm and stepped back out into the hallway. 

“Well don’t I feel like the jilted lover.” Bond said, standing in the hallway. He had pulled on his briefs, but was otherwise naked. His bright eyes took in Q’s fully-dressed state, and he smirked. 

“Um...” Q said, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Are you leaving?” Bond pressed. Already he had a glass in his hand with a nip of something; probably scotch, lingering at the bottom. 

“I wasn’t really sure what you had in mind.” Q finally confessed, decidedly unable to finesse his way out of the conversation. 

“I had in mind some breakfast. Preferably in bed.” Bond said. He cast a look down the hallway and pulled from the glass in his hand. 

“Okay.” Q responded, running his long fingers through his messy hair. 

“Okay.” Bond acquiesced, leading the way to the kitchen. He finished the rest of what was in his glass and set it aside on a stark white counter. 

“Bit early for that, don’t you think James?”

“I don’t exactly have a body clock.” Bond responded, opening cabinets and shutting them again as he piled pots and pans on the counter. “I forget what it’s called- some kind of rhythm.”

“Your circadian rhythm?” Q offered, opening the fridge to pull out breakfast supplies. There wasn’t much inside; a carton of eggs, some bread, and a few lemons. 

“That’s the one.” Bond said. “How do you like your eggs?”

Bond whipped together breakfast- eggs and toast- and piled everything onto a small carrying tray. Q made quick work of Bond’s electric kettle and brewed a cup of earl gray for each of them. He accidentally overfilled the mugs- he kept glancing over to watch Bond cook in his boxer-briefs. Bond carried the tray back to the bedroom, and smirked as Q was faced with the awkward task of deciding what to do about his state of dress. 

“Here, let me help with that.” Bond said quietly, setting the tray aside on the dresser. He removed Q’s tie and unbuttoned the shirt completely, leaving him bare-chested. They kissed, and Bond nudged Q playfully over to the bed. They fell onto the mattress together, a tangle of limbs and linen.


	4. Glass Doors and Neckties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q gets called into headquarters. Rated M/Explicit.

“What in the bloody hell is that noise?” Bond groaned. 

“Sorry, it’s my mobile.” Q jumped out of bed and began to rummage through his trousers- which had long since been discarded on the floor- for the offending device. 

“Nice ass.” Bond quipped, watching Q fumble.

“Shut it, James.” Q glanced at the phone and quickly pressed the pad of his thumb over the screen. He gave a backwards glance at Bond before pulling on his boxer-briefs; cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Sir?” Q said into his phone, standing straight and rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. Just below his reach was a slightly swollen bruise that looked suspiciously like teeth marks.

“I’ll be right ther- no, I’m not at my flat.” He was quiet for a moment. “Bond’s.” He said into the phone, nearly as low as a whisper. His cheeks began to flush.

“Yes Sir.” He hung up the phone and turned back to Bond.

“I’ve got to go.” He said, shifting awkwardly for a moment before getting dressed once again. He realized that he would be returning to headquarters in the same outfit that he had left it in, and reeking of sex, no less. 

“Mallory calling you in already? Isn’t that what Moneypenny’s supposed to do?” Bond asked, climbing out of bed. 

“Apparently she's busy. Must be taking care of something with Tanner.” Q said, distractedly brushing down his hair while his shirt hung loose at the shoulders. “Shit, I look a mess.” He murmured, trying to flatten the creases in his shirt.

“Here-“ James held his hand out. “I’ll press it.”

“I don’t-“ Q began.

“You have ten minutes with mid-afternoon traffic for the car to get here. Go grab a quick shower. Towels are in the cupboard, use whatever is in there.” Bond said. Q gave a small sigh of relief and pecked Bond on the cheek.

“Thank you.” He said, rushing off. 

“Nine minutes!” Bond called after him with a smirk. 

It only took Q three minutes to clean himself off. When he stepped out of the en-suite bathroom and into the bedroom Bond wasn’t there, but his shirt and slacks were lying neatly on the bureau. A different tie- this one black instead of his own dark blue and made of silk- was lying beside the shirt. 

“Car’s here, Q.” Bond said, knocking lightly on the door before poking his head in. He was carrying Q’s shoes and cardigan from when Q had brought them into the main room before breakfast. Q took the proffered articles gratefully and pulled the outfit together. 

“Thanks, sweets.” Q said. Bond looked slightly taken aback by the endearment, but he didn't say anything. A jibe over this previously unseen domestic side of Bond froze on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on his lips, pulling Bond close enough to notice the stirring below his belt. 

“I’m sure I’ll be called in soon enough.” He replied, straightening the tie around Q's neck. With a nod of approval, he stepped away from him “Go and whip those Q Branch delinquents into shape.” 

A few hours later, Q was bent over a desk with three laptops open on top of it, entering strings of code. He had his own office, a small closet-like space just down the hall from the main computer terminals and the rest of Q-branch, but he rarely used it. Instead he preferred to work at the computers in the main room- two of them hooked up to the large screens on the wall, and the third rolling through more sensitive data. 

“How is it coming, Q?” Mallory asked, strolling into the room.

“I’ve just about localized the signal, so I should be able to pinpoint his position soon enough.” Q said. 

“How did he get past the Americans if he's in the Middle East?” A familiar voice asked. Q turned and saw Bond stroll into the room, looking sexy as hell in a perfectly tailored suit. Something seemed out of place though, and Q couldn’t quite figure it out while he was half-distracted by the numbers rolling past his screen. 

“Do we really want to take up time with the myriad cockups from the CIA?” Q mumbled, mostly to himself, but loud enough for Mallory and Bond to hear. Bond stood next to him and grinned. 

“Just find his location so we can put an agent on it.” Mallory said. He turned and left, leaving Q and Bond alone at the front of the room. Bond glanced over at the other agents of Q Branch, typing away diligently at their computers. 

“Do you think they can handle this one?” Bond asked, lowly. 

“Is that a serious question, James?” Q asked distractedly. Bond chuckled, and wrapped an arm around Q’s lower back. Q balked, sliding a few feet away from the computers and casting a glance around. No one was looking at him. Bond was looking at him calmly, his expression perfectly blank. 

“007, come with me.” Q said suddenly. He turned to the rest of the room. “Keep working on this. I want the location zeroed in when I get back.” He walked towards his office, Bond following. 

He shut the door behind them, and Q was once again grateful that his office was in one of the old bunker rooms, not one of the sleek glass offices that the upper part of the bunker had had installed. 

“What in the-“ Q began, turning on Bond. He was cut off by Bond’s mouth on his; tongue sliding behind his teeth before retreating so that Bond could bite at his lower lip. He pushed Q up against the ancient brick wall roughly, grabbing the back of Q's hair and pressing his thigh between Q’s legs to rub up against his cock. 

“James- someone could-“ Q gasped, reaching around Bond’s neck with one hand and reaching down to palm his erection with the other. Bond inhaled sharply when Q’s hand pressed against him, and he began to kiss him more ferociously. 

“Stop worrying, Q.” James mumbled, moving his lips from Q’s mouth to his neck and then up to his earlobe, which he sucked gently. 

“I have currently stopped hunting an internationally sought after terrorist to have what appears to be leading to a quick fuck with a co-worker in the underground bunker that formerly belonged to Winston Churchill.” Q said, pulling Bond off of his ear so that he could stare at him pointedly.

“And some offices just get a weeks’ paid holiday. How quaint.” Bond replied, his eyes searching Q's. “Relax. Please.”

Against his better judgment, Q relented and gave in to Bond’s hands, which were skimming down his chest and towards his belt buckle. He reached up to undo Bond’s tie, and paused, running his hands over the inexpensive fabric.

“Is this my tie?” Q asked.

“Smelled like you.” Bond said, undoing the buckle and fly on Q’s trousers and fingering his way inside. 

“James you sentimental bastard.” Q joked, gasping as Bond’s hand slid around his hardened cock. 

Eventually, they made their way over to Q's desk, which was made of a very solid mahogany and had nothing on it except for a handful of pens and a tech manual that Q had ignored. Bond removed Q's slacks and lifted him onto the desk, stopping just long enough to slide a wooden chair beneath the door handle. He didn't want Q to be gripped by paranoia the entire time. 

This was not the calm, caressing fuck that they had had the night before. Bond reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the farmiliar bottle of lube, and slicked down his cock and fingers. He opened Q up quickly, listening to the brunette pant desperately as Bond moved his fingers inside of him. 

"Fuck, James- please" Q keened, holding the backs of his knees to spread himself wider. 

Bond pressed himself against Q and pushed into his slick, wet heat. Q groaned, and Bond pulled out only to push himself back in immediately after. As he thrust, he ran his slick hand up Q's length, swirling his thumb around the head and rubbing back down. 

Q came first, James' name a desperate whisper on his tongue. Bond followed soon after. 

"Well shit." Q swore, sitting up. Bond sank into the unused office chair, his cock still semi-hard through the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs. Bond looked up at him and laughed. Suddenly, there was a harsh knock at the door.

"Sir? We have the location locked. Come and have a look." A female voice called into the room. Q considered it a blessing when she did not try to turn the knob.

"Thank you." Q called back, trying to keep his voice passive. Quickly, he got dressed and attempted to tidy himself up, which was difficult to do without a mirror. He glanced over at Bond, who as getting dressed as well. Bond bucked his belt and then walked over to Q, straightening the collar around Q's necktie. 

"Well don't you look handsome." Bond smirked, running his hands through Q's hair in a failed effort to make it lay flat.


	5. Cigarettes and Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q's fears come to a head, leading to a bit of an impasse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part One of the Just His Type series. Part Two will commence in a few days. 
> 
> Please comment/kudos/bookmark if you like what you read, this way I know there's actual interest for me to keep writing! :)

Q stepped out of the bunker and ignored the string of parked town cars, any one of which would have taken him to his flat. Instead, he walked up the long driveway to street level and shuffled along the pavements along with the late-day rush. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and he wished he had a coat to take some of the chill from his arms and shoulders. 

As he passed through the streets, ignoring cafes and shops that were overflowing with shoppers, he thought about the conversation that he had had with M just before he left. It had been brief, thank heavens for that, but embarrassing all the same. He cringed thinking about it. 

It was a long walk to the flat, which was not among the collection of MI6-funded homes that the operatives and other higher-ups lived in. Instead of living in a sleek and modern building with proper sound-proofing and top-notch appliances, Q opted for the privacy and seclusion of an apartment of hiss choosing, even if it wasn’t perfect. 

He climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and fumbled for his keys. He had just pushed the door open when his mobile began to ring. Q glanced down at the caller id before answering. 

“’Hello?” Q answered, closing his door behind him.

“Come out with me.” Said Bond, his voice muffled slightly. 

“James, I can’t tonight. Loads to do.” Q lied as he began to flick on different lamps in the apartment. The apartment door opened into the kitchen, which then led into a small breakfast nook and then the main room. A small bedroom and bathroom shot off the main room like the reaching end of an L. In the fading evening light, it was difficult to see the layer of clutter that peeked from the corners of each room; wires and cables and different gadgets. Old mugs of tea lingered on the side tables, and photographs of stoic-looking boys in front of laptops sat under a fine layer of dust on the bookshelf. 

“One of your lackeys said you were in a meeting with M late this afternoon.” Bond said.

“Indeed. Turns out when you’re picked up in a company car from a double-oh’s flat the boss gets a little cranky.” Q responded, rubbing his eyes. The humiliation was still fresh, creeping up the back of his neck. The conversation had been so awkward- Q standing in the tidy office in his rumpled clothes, knowing full well that only an hour earlier Bond had been taking him over his own desk. He didn’t think that M knew that much, but still…

“Oh ignore Mallory, he’s just petrified of a major cock-up his first year in MI6. The PM has been breathing down his neck since that stunt we pulled at Skyfall.”

“Which I helped with, James! I’m on his radar.” 

“Get off it, Q. You’re worried over nothing.” Bond said. He sounded frustrated, and harried.

“I’ve got to go, Bond. Bye.” Q hung up his phone and tossed it onto his small kitchen table. 

Q flicked on his ipod dock and headed towards the shower. He had rigged a stereo to play in his bathroom, so while he stood under the scalding spray he tried to distract his brain with music. 

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a soft grey cotton t-shirt. The fabric clung to his skin in spots where he was still damp, and he had to run a towel through his hair frantically before he could rake his fingers through it. 

After a few minutes of nervous pacing, Q threw open a window in his main room and lit a cigarette. He smoked it while leaning on the metal radiator, looking out over the darkened city. 

A knock at his door pulled Q from his distractions. Dangling the cigarette from his lips, he checked the peephole in his door and was surprised to find Bond staring back at him from the other side. 

He opened the door. 

“Smoking isn’t good for you, Q.” Bond said. He looked ridiculously out of place in his tailored suit and wool coat, standing in the shabby hallway. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” Bond asked. 

Q stepped aside. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked the ash onto the small pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Bond walked past him, and looked around.

“Your apartment was a sonofabitch to find.” Bond said. 

“Especially for someone as in want of resources as you.” Q said. “It must have taken you a whole three minutes to track down my address.”

“Two, actually.” 

“Ah.” 

“So what was on the honey-do list this evening, Q? Laundry? Paying bills? Jerking off?”

Q rubbed his eyes tiredly and stubbed the cigarette out in the bottom of the steel sink. 

“Why are you here, Bond?” He asked. 

“Well for starters, I’m here because you keep calling me Bond.” Bond said, stepping close to Q. If he had anywhere to go, Q may have taken a step backwards. But he was trapped against the sink. 

“It’s your name.” Q said pointedly.

“My job is to read people, Q. Can we please cut the shit?”

Q sighed and led Bond through to the main room. The open window carried a harsh draft through the room, but Q left it open. 

“It’s about your meeting with Mallory today, yeah? What did he say?” Bond pressed. 

“He just mentioned that MI6 couldn’t afford another scandal, and that there were better places to carry on an affair.” Q said. He walked over to the window and lit another cigarette from the pack resting on the sill. 

“I see.” Bond said. He perched on the arm of Q’s pinstriped sofa. “And you’re inclined to take what he said to heart?”

“It was humiliating, James!” Q shouted, turning towards the double-oh. “He called me into his office and chided me like a errant schoolboy. He treated me like some pervert who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“You want to call it off, don’t you?” Bond asked.

“Call what off?” Q asked. His voice grew quiet. 

“This. Us.”

“I wasn’t perfectly clear on whether or not there was an ‘us,’ James.” Q said, taking a drag. 

“What did you think this was?” Bond asked. 

“An indiscretion.” Q said finally, flicking his ask out the window and onto the street below. “The sort of thing a double-oh goes through when he hasn’t been sent on assignment for awhile and he needs an easy lay. Christ, James- I’m not even your type! And frankly, the devil-may-care playboy isn’t exactly my type either.” The words stung Q, but fuck if they weren’t true.

“I see.” Bond said. His face was absolutely devoid of emotion except for his eyes, which blazed. 

“Can we just forget it James? Please?” Q asked, his voice desperate. Bond looked at him silently, his eyes growing cold. For the first time since Skyfall, Bond felt distant. He was already too far away for Q to reach. 

“Sure, Q. We’ll just forget it.” Bond said slowly as he rose to his feet. “But for the record, you’re perfectly my type, and I may not know precisely what yours is, but you didn’t give me much of a chance to figure that much out.” Without another word, he turned and left the flat. Q listened as he walked towards the end of the hallway, and lost the sound of his footsteps as he descended the stairs. 

“Fuck me.” Q swore, finishing his cigarette. He flicked the butt out of the window and shut it, not wanting to watch Bond emerge onto the street below. He went into his bedroom, grabbing a bottle of scotch from his small liquor cabinet on his way. 

The next morning, Q woke up with a splitting headache and a taste in his mouth that could only be described as akin to turpentine. He got up and stumbled into the kitchen to fill the kettle. 

On the floor, just in front of the door, was a small, thin box. Cautiously, Q picked it up and pulled off the lid. Inside was his tie, the one that Bond had been wearing the day before. Tacked to it was a note, written in tidy black scrawl. 

_You were not an indiscretion. Call me.  
-J. _

Q held the paper in his hand, weighing it against his heart. Eventually, he went off to find his cell phone, which he had abandoned the day previously.

“Hello?” Bond answered his phone on the second ring.

“Have I ever mentioned that you’re just my type?” Q asked.


	6. Author's Note: Part II of "Just His Type"- entitled "Wayward Agent" is up!

Hello Everyone!  
Thanks for the great feedback about "Just His Type!"

The next part of the series, "Wayward Agent" has been set up and Chapter One is already posted!

Find it here:  
http://archiveofourown.org/works/572410

Thank you!  
Sarah Ellie


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